


At His Will

by tetsubinatu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetsubinatu/pseuds/tetsubinatu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin returns to Camelot because Arthur is dying.</p><p>WARNINGS: Death of an OC.  Canon-level violence.</p><p>This fic was written during Season 2 and first posted shortly thereafter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At His Will I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kabal42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/gifts).



> **Kabal42's Prompt Request** : Merlin is banished from Camelot because Uther finds out he's a sorcerer. Some time later he's called back by Uther himself, so he can save a dying Arthur's life.  
> I hope it was what you were looking for, Kabal 42! I think I managed to fit everything in, at least a bit. I know Mordred is a bit OOC, but I figure 2 years of trailing Merlin around has de-creepified the kid a bit! The main fic was completed well before the final few episodes of Season 2 so it disregards all the new information from those episodes.
> 
> Also, this was betaed by my 12yo so - no hot stuff before the (unbetaed) epilogue!  
> 

Mordred came running into camp with his bow over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop in front of Merlin. “You’re not going, are you? Tell me you’re not going!”

Merlin blinked, looking up from his book. Around him the camp went still. Two men who had been amicably squabbling over the relative merits of their favourite fishing spots right in front of him eased gently behind a tree. Morgana froze, her spoon in her mouth and the woman next to her let out a stifled squeak.

Clearly Merlin was the only person who did not have the faintest idea what Mordred was talking about.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Merlin ventured.

Morgana leaned forward, trying to catch Mordred’s sleeve, but he shook her off without looking. “You’d have to be mad! Trust UTHER’s word that he wouldn’t kill you? Prob’ly Prince Arthur isn’t even dying - he just made it up to lure you back.”

Morgana flinched.

“I’m going,” said Merlin implacably. He closed the book with a snap and stood, looking around the camp. His voice was level but sparking with repressed anger as he said through gritted teeth. “Would the person with the details of the message please bring it to me in my tent. I’ll be leaving within the hour.”

As he had expected it was Morgana who brought him the parchment scroll which the man on sentry duty had found pinned to an oak on the edge of the forest - a place where those both friendly and unfriendly to the druids brought information, demands and goods for exchange. It read:

 

_  
From Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot to the Sorcerer, Merlin, formerly trusted servant to Prince Arthur of Camelot,_

_The Prince is dying of the vilest dark sorcery and his physicians tell me that he will not see the new moon rise again. Only sorcery can save him, as it has so cruelly damned him._

_Compelled by this dire necessity I therefore offer free passage to the sorcerer, Merlin, in the hope that he remembers the honour and trust which Prince Arthur formerly reposed in him, and in order that he may come to Camelot for the purpose of saving the Prince’s life._

_The sorcerer, Merlin, possesses a token given to him by the prince which is known to my guards, and upon its presentation they have orders to escort him safely and unhindered to the Prince’s bedside where he will be permitted to remain in safety within the bounds of Camelot until the Prince’s physicians pronounce him cured or deceased, after which event the sorcerer will be escorted to the border of the Kingdom and released unharmed. So I do solemnly swear and decree._

_So shall it be._

A large scrawled ‘Uther’ covered the bottom of the parchment, which bore the king’s seal.

Merlin’s face, as always, showed every thought that crossed his mind. He was already on his way to Arthur, whatever Morgana said.

“How could you keep this from me?” he asked, whirling around to pick out a book from the clutter beside his bed. “I thought you loved Arthur?”

“Of course I love him, idiot, but it’s a plot! Can’t you see? Arthur probably isn’t even sick! Can you really imagine Uther offering you safe passage after what happened?”

Merlin shook his head, his voice husky with despair. “Morgana, he _loves_ Arthur - Arthur is the only soft spot in his stony heart. For Uther to offer me free passage he must really believe that Arthur is going to die. I have to go.”

“If Arthur dies,” Morgana said, her voice trembling, “If he really is sick and you can’t save him, Uther will have your head - whatever he promises.”

Merlin shook off her restraining hand. “I know that. I won’t trust him, but I do have to go.”

He rolled up his blanket around every healing text he owned and a change of clothes, fingering the pendant that hung around his neck. “Have you dreamed of this, Morgana? Have you any warnings for me?”

Her face was taut with a fear that he had not seen in the time since they had left Camelot. “I don't have anything helpful; a grave under an apple tree, the smell of blood and Uther’s eyes, watching you. That's all. I think... it isn’t certain yet. Be careful, Merlin.”

He met her eyes with a smile. “I’m going to see Arthur again, Morgana. I’d go for that alone.”

  


Merlin was far more powerful now than he had been when he left Camelot; disciplined in his art and schooled in the underlying principles of magic as the druids understood them. He walked through the gates of the castle and the eyes of the guards slid past him without noticing. A guard was posted outside Arthur’s chambers but he didn’t turn as Merlin opened the door and passed under the lintel for the first time in over two years.

The chamber was empty.

Arthur had occupied it until recently - the bed was made and the cupboards contained his clothes - but it smelled dusty and abandoned. The bed held no scent of its owner and for a moment Merlin was pierced by terror that he had come too late, that Arthur was already dead.

But no. There would be mourning flags and tolling bells. They had moved him, that was all. Merlin breathed deep and evenly, calming himself, then closed his eyes, sending out his magic. High... and to the south...west. Arthur was in the SW tower and he felt... wrong.

Oh yes: _there_ was the taint of sorcery, like the taste of blood on the wind. The plea was true; Arthur needed him.

Merlin wanted to run to the tower, to burst into Arthur’s room... but that was not the way to do it. Instead he went unseen back through the gate, turned around and slipped into the stream of people approaching it. At the guard post he pushed back the hood of his cloak and greeted a man he had once known well.

“Gunnric! Good to see you. The King sent for me - I believe you have orders?”

He was taken directly to Arthur’s bedside. People stopped and gaped as he went past - the ones who knew him whispering excitedly to newer residents. Mary from the kitchen smiled at him; Alain from the stables scowled and made the sign of the evil eye. Betany and Elbert looked frightened. As he approached the tower steps Gwen came running up a side corridor to intercept them, skirts gathered in her hand.

“Can you save him? Merlin, please.” she gasped, her dark eyes wide and desperate.

“You know I’ll try,” he promised, pierced anew by the fear in her voice but drinking in the sight of her like parched earth under rain. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Of course,” she said, her shy glance at the floor reminding him of a hundred moments in their friendship before she met his eyes again. “I know you’ll do your best.” Her hand reached out to touch him, but dropped before it reached his arm. Best not.

He could feel her eyes following him up the stairs until he disappeared around the curve. Same Gwen, thank the stars. Morgana would be so happy to hear it. It had been a wrench leaving her behind, but she didn’t belong with the druids and it had felt less like abandoning Arthur if they left Gwen with him.

Not that Merlin had had any choice in the matter at the time.

  


Merlin stepped into the stifling heat of the tower room and almost stopped walking at the shock: Arthur looked dead. If it hadn’t been for the watchful vigil by his bedside and the prickle of tainted magic at the back of Merlin’s neck he might have thought he was too late. The blond hair no longer shone in the sunlight, but looked like straw thatch on the head of the pale, cadaverous body on the bed. Arthur was never meant to be that thin, never meant to be so pale.

In that first moment Arthur was all that Merlin could see, but when he jerked his gaze away it was to meet the furious, desperate gaze of the king.

“What happened?” Merlin asked, approaching the bed and taking one skeletal hand in his. Uther made a jerky movement, as if to prevent him touching Arthur, but stopped.

“Sorcery happened,” he said with implacable hate. “Fix it.”

If Uther had had the slightest magical talent, Merlin would have been on fire from his gaze. Merlin compressed his lips and turned to the middle-aged man in robes beside the king. This must be the new physician.

“Tell me what happened, how long ago and what you have tried so far,” Merlin said, still holding on to Arthur’s cool, limp hand. He dropped his gaze to Arthur’s pale lips, but he didn’t miss the physician’s glance at Uther, or Uther’s reluctant, slow nod.

“It happened at the full of the moon last month,” he said. “Sir Kay and a kitchen maid were the only ones who saw it.”

“I’ll need to speak to them,” Merlin interrupted.

Again Merlin was aware of Uther nodding in the background. Someone - Merlin didn’t look to see who - slipped out of the door as the physician continued speaking.

“At first he seemed to have taken little harm, but gradually he began to waste away. He slept longer and had little appetite. What he did eat disagreed with him. I gave him tonics and purges; we fed him with delicacies to strengthen him, but nothing worked.

“I consulted with other physicians, tried different tonics and recipes of their suggestion, we leeched him and that seemed to do a little good but by the full of the moon this month he was sleeping thrice the amount of time he was awake, and three days ago he would not wake at all. That is when...”

Uther spoke into the pause. “That is when I sent for you. You have claimed to be loyal to my son and when the physicians began to speak of sorcery as the only cure he swore that you would come if I vouchsafed you safe passage. I promised him that when there was no more hope I would send for you as he desired.”

Merlin closed his eyes to contain his flash of joy, feeling his entire body come alive with the knowledge that Arthur had spoken for him, still trusted him, still wanted him near.

“I am here,” he said.

He leaned over Arthur’s face as Gaius had taught him, smelling his breath and examining the movement and colour under his eyelids. Arthur’s pulse was weak and his skin felt cold, but now Merlin realised that that was why the room was so hot. The physician was doing what he could.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, nodding to the man and removing his cloak.

“Marius, Court Physician,” he responded. “Do you think you can save him?”

Merlin had absolutely no idea.

“If it’s possible, I’ll do it,” he said firmly.

Uther’s eyes were on Merlin’s chest, on the pendant that dangled around his neck. “That belonged to my wife,” he said.

The accusation in his voice was clear, but Arthur had _given_ it to Merlin, sent it to him as a message of support in the last days before Merlin left Camelot. Merlin tucked it into his shirt, where it usually lay. It was only out because he had had to show it to Gunnric.

“If Arthur asks me to return it I will,” he said quietly. He had worn it for two years, never taken it off even when bathing. At night in his bed he held it in his hands, a token of promise that one day he would return to Camelot, that one day Arthur would send for him.

He had never expected to return to this, to a dying Arthur and a raging Uther leashed only by the hope that Merlin brought with him.

  


Sir Kay and Liona told the same story when they came to the tower room - a windy night, an attack from a flying semi-human monster resulting in a shallow belly wound taken by Arthur before it gave up and flew off into the clouds; a fruitless search and Arthur growing weaker and weaker.

“The Prince saved me, just as if I was a noble lady,” Liona said, her eyes red with grief. “Pushed me to the ground and stood over me so that that _thing_ couldn’t touch me. I felt terrible that he got hurt like that, but it seemed to heal right - he told me so when he came to the kitchen for more spiced cakes a week later. ‘I feel fine,’ he said. Then he started fading, like.”

Sir Kay gave more details of the monster and of the battle, but he agreed that the wound seemed shallow - little more than a scratch. “Maybe it wasn’t even that monster,” he said, scratching his head. “But he didn’t leave the castle for over a week after, and I don’t know how else he could have been harmed. Has to be that, doesn’t it?”

There was still a faint pink line on Arthur’s sunken abdomen, just above his belly button. Merlin had once known all Arthur’s scars, but there were several now that he had never seen before. This one seemed clean enough, might even fade to nothing given the chance.

Merlin frowned at it, thinking.

“I need to see Geoffrey,” he said to himself. Replacing the covers carefully over Arthur’s wasted body he headed purposefully for the door, surprised to find it blocked by a guard’s pike.

“You’ll stay here,” Uther said. “You’re here for Arthur, not to have the run of the castle.”

It was no good losing his temper, but Merlin had to bite his lip _hard_. “I’ll need to see Geoffrey and have access to the library. You can send an escort with me if you must, but if you want me to help then I need the library.”

It hung in the balance for the moment and then Uther made a gesture to the guard. “Accompany the sorcerer to the library and back. He is not go anywhere else without my express permission.”

  


Geoffrey looked up from his books in surprise. His eyes flicked to the guards, assessingly. He’d never been the most sociable of people, but Gaius had counted him a friend and Merlin, orbiting harmlessly around Gaius, had become an accustomed face. Merlin was pleased to see that at the very least he did not recoil at his first glimpse of ‘the evil sorcerer’.

“Merlin,” he said, a single word of enquiry.

“Geoffrey,” Merlin replied courteously.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. Do you know what became of Gaius’ books after I left?”

Geoffrey’s mouth tightened. “The king ordered them burned.”

Merlin had feared so. But he did not fail to note that Geoffrey had not - exactly - answered his question. And Geoffrey loved books. And Geoffrey had been a friend of Gaius’.

“I see,” he said slowly. “That’s a pity. He had a Compendium of Beasts which could have been useful, among other works. If you find anything similar among the library manuscripts I would be grateful if you could send it to me.”

Geoffrey was avoiding his eyes, and Merlin’s suspicions firmed.

“I will stay here and do some research for the next few hours,” he said decisively to the guards. “You may wait outside. Geoffrey doesn’t want you cluttering up this space, I’m sure.”

Geoffrey nodded and made shooing motions at the guards. “Wait outside! There are valuable books in here and I don’t want you near them.”

Which had always been Geoffrey’s attitude, although it was entirely possible that the illiterate guards didn’t know it. Merlin knew where the medical texts were kept and he went straight to that corner, ignoring the guards,who, after a few more shooing motions from Geoffrey did decide to guard the door from the outside.

Geoffrey hovered, irresolute, at Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin wanted to scream. Arthur was _dying_ while he played ‘I can keep a secret’ with Geoffrey.

“If you have them I won’t tell. Please - I really need them.” he said, whirling to face Geoffrey.

After a moment, the librarian nodded. He moved several stacks to the side to reveal a cache of hidden books. “These are the ones that were too... obvious... to just slip into the shelves,” he said nervously. “The others are already integrated into the system if you need them.”

Merlin let out a sigh of relief and clasped Geoffrey’s right forearm as he had seen Gaius do at times. “Thank you Geoffrey. Just, thank you.”

Several hours passed. Someone thought to bring him food, but Geoffrey wouldn’t allow it in the library. Merlin read until his eyes hurt, ducked outside for a quick bowl of tepid soup when his stomach became unreasonable, then read some more. Geoffrey was drooping over a tattered manuscript that he had been repairing when Merlin finally called him over in the dark watches of the night.

“Do you have any more information about this creature?” Merlin pointed to a beast labelled merely as ‘Flying creature, harbinger of lingering death.”

“Maybe,” Geoffrey murmured consideringly, moving to rifle a shelf of books awaiting restoration. “Do you think that could be what harmed the prince?” He selected an old tome which seemed to be held together by a belt of twine and carefully placed it on the table before Merlin before unwrapping the string. “See? Here?”

Merlin muttered aloud as he read, “Then did an evil spirit come from out of the night and wound him, and though the wound festered not, yet within a short time he passed unto death. And this spirit returned to the village time and again, and each time was the same until at last the villagers would stay no more and left that cursed place.”

The illustration had points of similarity with the one from Gaius’ bestiary, although the colour was brown and not grey, and the proportions were different.

“I haven’t read this book yet,” Geoffrey said, “But I remembered the illustration.”

“Then it _was_ the monster,” Merlin said. “I’ll have to get Kay to look at the picture. I’ll send for him.”

Geoffrey gave him a look that reminded Merlin so much of Gaius that it hurt. “It’s the middle of the night, Merlin.”

“Arthur’s _dying_!” Merlin protested, but Geoffrey seemed to have forgotten that he was dealing with a disgraced sorcerer because he said, “You need to sleep. Gaius would insist.”

And Merlin gave in. Because Gaius _would_ have insisted, and to be in a place where someone _knew_ that, where someone could _say_ that to him, was suddenly quite overwhelming.

“I’ll bring Kay back in the morning,” he said wearily, and turned to collect his guards on the way out.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” said Geoffrey behind him.

Merlin’s throat was tight. “Goodnight, Geoffrey.”

  


The guards took him back to the tower room where Arthur lay as still as death with Gwen patiently feeding him small spoonsful of honeyed water. Merlin looked around, but Uther and Marius had retired to their bedchambers and the guards had retreated to the bottom of the stairs and at last - at last - he was alone with two of the four people he trusted most in the world.

“I missed you so much!” he said on a sigh that might have been a sob into Gwen’s hair. Her arms were around him and she smelled as she always had of lavender and sweetness. She was warm and loving in his arms and he was so tired, so very tired of missing her and of the aching gap where Arthur should be.

“I missed you too!” she said, muffled into his chest. “Is Morgana all right? Did your wound heal properly? I’ve worried about you every winter and every thunderstorm and all the time really...” And she _was_ crying now, and somehow that eased the tightness of his chest.

At last they pulled a little apart, although she did not let go of his hands, and she spoke to him of the horror of watching Arthur fade before their eyes, of his valiant struggles at the beginning and of the look in his eyes as it became clear that this was not a struggle he could win. Once, she told him, just before he had slipped into sleep for the last time, he had asked her if she had any news of Merlin and Morgana, as if all this time he had thought that she might be keeping in touch with them behind his back.

“And I had to tell him that I hadn’t any news since the pedlar brought that message at Michaelmas after you left, saying that you were safe. He didn’t say anything, but, oh Merlin... I know it was safer this way, but we both missed you so much!”

Merlin wondered who had had it worse, those left behind or those fleeing into the dark. Not for the first time, he thought that he might have had the easier path. He was so tired he was swaying on his feet and he pulled away before he could fall asleep just as they were.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Merlin wondered aloud. There was a single servant’s pallet by the wall but this was clearly for Gwen. No-one had thought to make provision for him. Gwen looked at him and without a word it was agreed; they would share Arthur’s enormous bed.

They settled facing inwards on the bed either side of Arthur, where they could hear the faint sounds of his breath, a slow but steady rhythm. Merlin put his hand out to Gwen and they rested their joined hands on Arthur's hip. It was a soul-deep comfort to have them both so near, to lie there touching them, and Merlin fell almost instantly asleep.

  


  


Image courtesy of inamoo

Twelve hours later Merlin faced Uther over the wide table, Geoffrey’s (but not Gaius’) book spread on the board between them.

“Kay confirms that that _is_ the monster, and the effects Arthur suffered prove it in any case.

“In effect, this type of monster is animated by the sorcerer’s will - so it has to be a strong sorcerer - and its purpose is to gain some of the victim’s blood. Once the sorcerer has the blood he can work the leeching spell from a distance. He need never actually see the victim himself.”

Uther’s jaw was set. “So he could be anywhere.”

“Well, the distance depends on the strength of the sorcerer. The stronger he is, the further away he can work the spell from, but the effect is stronger the closer the sorcerer is.”

“I see.” Uther frowned at the picture. “So can you break this spell?”

“There are two ways listed here that the spell could be broken. In one of these accounts it was broken when the sorcerer was killed, so if I can kill the sorcerer that should do it.

“The other way is by finding and destroying the blood he took, which is locked into a ... a sort of physical representation of the spell. It should look like a ball of mud. The sorcerer has to keep it near him, because until the victim dies the spell is continually drawing on his magic.

“I don’t actually think it matters - find one, find both. And presumably I would have to kill him in order to get to the blood.”

Uther’s gaze was sharp, assessing. “Can you do it?”

“I can - but you can’t hold me here. I have to go and find him, and you’ll have to trust me to do that.”

The two men stared at each other across a chasm united only by the one person they both refused to lose. Uther took a grudging breath and conceded.

“I won’t stop you. Take men if you need them. Take any damn thing if you need it - just do it quickly.”

Merlin nodded, man to man, and left the room quietly.

Alone, he returned to the quiet familiarity of Arthur’s chambers. Sitting in the middle of Arthur’s bed he sent out his magic, first to the tower room, then to follow the thin trail of wrongness that linked Arthur to the spell that was killing him. It was faint, not so much a trail as an almost imperceptible _taste_ on the wind; a coppery taint which led out to a decrepit farmhouse on the eastern side of Camelot.

  


She was a respectable widow woman, small, with apple-cheeks and pretty white hair. She tried to kill Merlin and she wouldn't _stop_.

He didn’t ask her why - he didn’t want to know - but he buried her body under the apple tree at the back of the house with the shattered cinders which were all that remained of the spell-ball..

The spell was broken. He should go home. Home to.. Morgana? Home to Gwen and Arthur?

He should go home, but the dirt on his hands was suddenly unbearable and he was so, so tired. He washed his hands with water from the well and sat in the sorceress’ chair staring out across the valley towards Camelot.

He had another person to add to the list of his dead:

Mary Collins, who had killed several people to get to Arthur;  
Edwin Muirden, seeking revenge for the death of his parents;  
Sophia and Aulfric, parasites both;  
Kanen’s raiders - he wasn’t too sure how much of the responsibility he bore there, but some;  
Nimueh;  
Hengist, whom he had trapped with a wildren; and  
Harald and Harden, the two sorcerers who had killed Gaius

There had been others he had only knocked out or injured, but now after two years without killing he had another death to add to the list. She hadn’t given him a name, but he supposed that he could find out if he wanted to. He wouldn’t remember her by name in any case, but by her sweet face and insane eyes.

Why did they all have the same eyes?

Harald and Harden had faced him with that same look in the Great Hall, turning from Gaius, where he had died defending Uther with the magic he could barely summon after twenty years of denial, to face Merlin in his grief.

Merlin had struck without thinking, without pausing, without a word. Two outstretched hands had summoned lightning from the air. The sorcerers had barely registered the danger before their blackened bodies fell to the ground and Merlin was running to Gaius, to insist that he couldn’t be dead, mustn’t be dead.

Then someone had plucked up the nerve to hit him over the head and he woke up in the dungeons with his hands bound and a gag in his mouth.

No dungeons for him this time. Uther had promised him safe escort, and Merlin thought he had a fair chance of escaping even if that promise was broken.

If Arthur lived.

He had to know, so he stood up and began the long walk back to Camelot.

  


The guards stood aside to let him pass up the stairs to the tower room. Uther was in the bedside chair and Marius had pulled up another chair on the other side. It could have been his imagination, but Merlin thought that the figure on the bed between them looked... warmer; his lips and cheeks had a little colour and he seemed to be breathing more deeply.

Marius smiled at him. “He’s improving.”

Uther stood to face him. “You’ve killed the sorcerer?”

Merlin didn't take his eyes off Arthur, drinking in the sight of him. “Yes; she’s dead.”

Uther's eyes closed as he let out a sigh of thankful relief. “I don’t need you any more then. Take a horse and get out,” he ordered, already turning to dismiss Merlin from his sight.

From the bed came a sigh which could have been a word. The three men spun to face Arthur as he opened his eyes and said clearly, “Merlin.”

Uther didn’t try to stop Merlin as he went to Arthur’s side.

“Stay,” said the prince weakly.

Merlin looked at Uther, who stared back unblinkingly.

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” Merlin said.

But Arthur plucked at his sleeve. “Bloody aw...ful servant. Stay!”

This time Uther nodded.

“I’ll stay,” Merlin said. “I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

Arthur smiled, affection radiating from his wasted face. “Saved me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Arthur glanced feebly over at his father and said, ”Told you so,” before falling asleep again. Uther looked as if he didn’t know whether to gnash his teeth or fall on his son with joy, so he settled for glaring at Merlin before rounding on Marius with instructions and demands.

Ignored, Merlin sat happily beside Arthur until the hand dropped from his sleeve, losing its grip only in sleep.

There would be time to talk, time to see Arthur grow ruddy and strong again. He would laugh with Arthur, argue with Arthur and serve Arthur again. Even if it were only for a little while, he couldn’t wait.

 

  



	2. At His Will II - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin returned to Camelot because Arthur was dying, but now he is going to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was SUPPOSED to be unadulterated smut as an epilogue for Kabal42's G-rated fic. My brain just wouldn't cooperate - it insisted on taking the long way around and being realistic about Arthur's stamina. *sigh*

Every day Arthur grew stronger. Every day brought Uther to his bedside, his love for his son as palpable as the dead hate in his eyes for Merlin, who was always there. At first Merlin had tried to withdraw when Uther came but Arthur forbade it until Merlin stopped trying.

"Why do you force him to see me with you?" Merlin asked, once Arthur was strong enough to sit in the window embrasure looking out over the town to the distant hills. 

Arthur's eyes were hungry as they turned to gaze at him, as hungry as Merlin's eyes were for Arthur. When Arthur put out his hand Merlin knew now to go to him, to take his hand. "If I can see you both then I know he isn't having you put to death in some quiet corner somewhere," Arthur admitted. "Or imprisoned in the dungeon."

"He couldn't do that now," Merlin said quietly, kneeling at his prince's feet. "I'm too strong. I could vanish from the chains."

Arthur shook his head. "Not if someone hit you from behind. Not if you were unconscious. Not if a passing guard stabbed you through the heart without a word." His blue eyes on Merlin were compelling.

"I've been meaning to say, I mean... I know I shouldn't have kept you here so long, Merlin. It's not safe. I was selfish to ask you to stay." Arthur took a deep breath. "You should go tonight, while everyone is asleep. You can be far away before anyone realises."

"I don't want to go," Merlin said, still holding the prince's hand, its calluses softened by weeks of illness. It was less than two weeks since Arthur had been unconscious, dying in this very room. Arthur had only been out of bed three times, and once was to be carried to the balcony on a chair so that the people could see that he was recovering.

Arthur turned to look out of the window again, his grip tightening on Merlin's hand. "It's not that I _want_ you to go," he said. He swallowed, his eyes returning to Merlin's. "I don't want you _ever_ to go. You know that when the time comes I will send for you, don't you? Morgana gave you that message?"

Morgana had given him the message with the pendant. She had come to the dungeon after Gwen had drugged the guards' dinner, extracted him from his chains with her usual efficiency, dragged him out of the castle and tied him to his horse so that he wouldn't fall off as they rode for the dubious safety of the druids' encampment. Merlin didn't remember much of it, just opening his eyes to find Morgana hissing furiously at him to _try_ to walk or they'd be caught. He'd lost his dinner in a passageway while she held his head and urged him to "Hurry up! Arthur sends this by the way and he says he'll send for you when its safe. Come _on_!"

From the moment she had slipped the pendant over his head, tucking it inside his filthy, tattered tunic, it had become a talisman of hope for him.

"She told me," Merlin said, and brought up his left hand to pull the pendant out of the neck of the fresh linen tunic he was currently wearing. "Your father is furious about the pendant, by the way. He said it belonged to your mother."

Arthur flushed. "It was part of a girdle that he gave it to her before they were married as a... a token of his love. I've worn it ever since I was sixteen."

Merlin began to pull the thong over his head, but Arthur put out his free hand to check him. "Keep it," he said. "Please."

The prince's blue eyes were fixed on him and Merlin could hardly breathe. "Arthur," he said, scarcely believing it (but what else could it mean?) "Do you..."

Arthur swallowed again, his adams apple bobbing in that still-too-pale neck. "Yes," he said, low and firm. "I do. But there's no obligation on you, you understand. I just... you had to leave and he... he _knew_ I'd go to you if I could; he had me _guarded_ \- and I'd never told you."

His hand was damp in Merlin's and Merlin clutched it tightly, as if it were an anchor to reality. "Can I...?" 

He leaned up as Arthur leaned down and very gently their lips met. Arthur let out a sob of breath and Merlin surged up between his thighs until they were pressed together as closely as two men could be. Merlin cradled Arthur's head in his hands as he finally - _finally_ \- got to touch those lips, those cheeks, that achingly beautiful column of neck and jawline.

"Arthur," he said, soft and worshipful. Arthur looked smug, the prat. Perhaps it was just his default setting.

" _Mer_ lin," the prat said, and even the cocky tone of his voice couldn't conceal the deep underlying desire, or the way his hands roamed, restless and hopeful over Merlin's neck and shoulders, not yet bold enough to move beyond that limit.

"Come back to bed, my lord," Merlin said, just to see what Arthur would say to that.

Arthur's eyes blazed bright as the sun, dimming only slightly as Merlin helped him back to his bed, sliding his soft slippers off and tucking him under the covers. He patted the bed beside him and Merlin bit his lip.

"Shall I lock the door?" he asked. Gwen was likely to stop by at any time, whilst Marius and Uther were regular visitors. Some of the knights - especially Gawain, who knew what it was to be bedridden for months - would drop in to chat and keep Arthur's spirits up when their duties were done. There were also the ladies of the court, some of whom saw themselves as ministering angels - to Arthur's obvious discomfort.

Most of those would knock, but Uther certainly wouldn't, and Marius and Gwen were in and out so often that it had become a bare formality.

Arthur's face tightened at the reminder, but after a moment of indecision he nodded, watching with barely concealed impatience as Merlin crossed to the door and locked it, but he had scarcely done so when they heard footsteps on the stairs and he sprang to unlock it again.

It was Gawain and Kay, with some tale which they clearly expected Arthur to find hilarious. Merlin cast a rueful glance at Arthur and slipped down the stairs for a quiet moment alone.

Of course he'd dreamed that Arthur loved him; of course he'd fantasised, with his hand on his cock, of Arthur's mouth, his hands on Merlin's body. He'd dreamed of Arthur saying words of love, of their bodies pressed naked against each other.

But he hadn't ever expected it to come true.

Would Arthur expect him to be untouched? The druids were quite comfortable with their sexuality and Merlin had slept with Morgana soon after they arrived at the camp - and they continued to do so as the whim took them thereafter. They were bonded in some way - certainly the druids saw them as each other's primary commitments although neither Morgana nor he had ever seen themselves as a pair in any true sense of the word. Both of them had taken other bedpartners without acrimony. On some level Merlin thought that maybe he _had_ been waiting for Arthur - because if Arthur wanted the same 'anytime darling' relationship that he had with Morgana he thought he might want to die.

He wanted Arthur to be his - and only his - now and forever.

Merlin sat down abruptly, halfway down the spiralling stairs.

Of all the stupid notions to have tucked away at the back of his head! If there was one person in the entire of Camelot who could never be entirely his it was the Prince of the Realm. He leaned forwards, burying his face in his knees until a little while later Gawain and Kay passed him on their way down.

"Alright, Merlin?" Gawain asked, pausing a few steps down to look back at him.

"Yeah, fine!" Merlin said, pasting a wide smile on his face as he looked up. "It's just been a long couple of weeks, yeah?"

Gawain smiled back and kept going, clattering out of sight. A few steps further down Merlin heard Kay say quietly, "You shouldn't talk to him. The king..." but anything else was cut off as they exited the tower. 

The silence in their wake was stifling. Merlin turned and made his way back up to the room where Arthur would be waiting for him.

  


Arthur was asleep.

It wasn't surprising; he'd spent more time out of bed today than was wise, perhaps, and then wrung himself out emotionally. Merlin looked at his deep even breathing and allowed himself to feel the aching joy and hunger that rose up in his chest. Arthur's cheeks had a healthy flush of colour once more and his face was beginning to fill out. His hair had already begun to shine again.

Merlin sat in the chair beside the bed, where he had sat so often recently, and rested one favoured hand against Arthur's shoulder, thinking.

He woke to find himself under Arthur's warm gaze. A little self-conscious he wiped the side of his mouth, hoping that he hadn't been drooling.

"Come here," Arthur said in a voice of such promise that Merlin didn't even think about locking the door. He slid his boots off and lay down beside Arthur, whose bright eyes were shining after his rest. 

Arthur had pushed the coverlet down to his waist, so they could slip eager hands under each other's shirts and tunics, exploring the warm skin bared as their clothing was pushed aside, although they retained enough caution not to take anything off.

"Missed you so much," Arthur said in the few moments when words seemed to be necessary. "love you... lonely... missed you missed you missedyou."

Merlin was licking his way between nipples when they heard footsteps on the stairs and used their few moments of grace to rearrange Merlin's clothing and the coverlet. It still looked messy, but Merlin grabbed a half-eaten tray of food and placed it on the bed, shoving an apple into Arthur's hand so that Marius walked in on a completely innocent scene of Arthur eating a late afternoon snack.

  


Marius had stopped doing midnight checks several days ago. After supper had been cleared they could reasonably expect to remain undisturbed all night. Merlin locked the door behind the maid who cleared the tray and looked at Arthur, half-asleep and hopeful on his pillows.

"Do you want...?" he asked with a vague gesture. 

Arthur smirked, his gaze sharpening through the fog of exhaustion. "I want," he agreed. "I've _wanted_ for a long time and you're not getting out of it now, Merlin of Ealdor!"

Desire twisted in Merlin's belly as he pulled off his shirt and tunic, watching Arthur watching him. He'd kept active with the druids - none of his bedmates had complained about the shape of him, and Arthur had already seen this much, but the flare in Arthur's eyes was welcome confirmation that the sight of him was pleasing. He hesitated a moment, fumbling with his breeches until they slid down to bare his groin and legs. Arthur was still watching him, but his hand had slipped under the covers to rub there.

That was good.

Merlin moved across to help Arthur sit up, tugging his nightshirt off, and then placed him gently back against the sheets before tugging the coverlet down to remove his breeches.

"I feel idiotic," Arthur complained. "So bloody weak and helpless."

"Like I care," Merlin retorted, throwing the soft sleeping pants after the shirt. "You'll be as healthy as ever soon enough. I'm going to enjoy having you at my mercy while I can!"

Arthur's lips twitched. That was the right answer. "You'd better make the most of it," he agreed, "Because when I'm well again I'm going to ravage your body until you cry mercy."

"Yeah yeah," Merlin said. "Promises, my lord..." He arranged himself beside Arthur, pulling the coverlet up because Arthur was beginning to shiver a little, and then Arthur turned and they were kissing again, long legs twining together, hips finding an urgent rhythm which their mouths echoed. Arthur groaned and the sound went straight to Merlin's cock. He whimpered a little and clutched Arthur closer, their cocks slipping and bumping together and then they were both coming, hot and slick on their bellies and by the time Merlin felt strong enough to move Arthur was asleep again. Merlin grinned and went to find a cloth to wipe them both down before slipping back into the bed to snuggle his sleeping Prince.

He really couldn't stay permanently in Camelot, but he could stay another week or two. Arthur would get better, and they would find times and places to meet. They'd work it out.

Arthur had promised to ravage him one day, and Merlin was already looking forward to it. In the meantime...

Merlin had an armful of warm, naked Arthur. Even asleep that was a sensual delight to treasure, and Merlin planned to do so. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

  


__

finis


End file.
